The Snoops Converse (Patreon)

"It all started when I was abandoned in the Antglade," Lemmy began.

"Now now, don't tell me everything," Detective Glenholm Webb interrupted.  "I want to deduce it."

"Ooh, can I watch?" Lemmy asked excitedly.

"Now then," the Detective mused.  "If I had to guess why she was in the Gladsome Antglade, it would be for the purpose of forming an alliance .."

"You're on the right track," Lemmy urged.

".. between Vulpitania and the Duchess of Daisies."

"Sorry, you're ice cold on that one."

"Furthermore, how could she have come so quickly from the Antglade to be here now, with Prince Adler's army blocking the way, and taking into account the extra weight she's carrying?"

"Oh, she didn't have those for most of the trip, sir," Lemmy chuckled.

"Go on," Detective Webb said, puffing on his pipe.  "You interest me strangely."

......

"I trust you have something suitable to wear to a formal dinner, my dear," Vulpsmarshal Sweetcheeks leered.  "If not - I, Sweetcheeks, would be happy to provide you with a gown."

The thought hit me with almost crippling force, that I didn't have a formal gown for the VIP dinner!  It was absolutely vital that I be dressed in something slinky and daringly low-cut so I could look my best next to the dashing Vulpsmarshal and his bravely glimmering medals!  I would also need an assistant, a lackey of some sort .. a lowly wretch whose debasement would elevate my status.

"Hey, stop browbeating that elf!" I called to the crowd.  "I need Sergeant Avogadro to be my squire!"

"She spoke my name!" Avogadro squealed weakly from somewhere behind the partition.  "I can go to Fuma's Embrace happy!"

"It's not time for the prize banquet yet!" someone in the crowd called out.

"There's more contests yet to go!" another spectator yelled.

"What's the holdup?" somebody else added.

"We are waiting for word that the next event is ready," Sweetcheeks explained loudly.  "Apparently the wagonload of pies for the tasting & throwing competitions has been misplaced."

"Ach du lieber," SALV Chesswick groaned.  "You mean zere is more of zis foolishness yet to come?"

"Aw, man," Estmere grumbled.  "More vixens?  How long is this gonna take?  I got a hot date with the tallest Floozy ever, and, like, I can't wait, dude."

My half-brother's plaintive voice snapped me out of my reverie.  Great Fuma!  What was I doing, thinking such vixenish thoughts about Sweetcheeks and the pitiful Sergeant?  I had to stay FOCUSED, or all would be lost!

I slapped myself sternly in an attempt to regain my senses.

"Vhat is der problem, contestant?" Alberta asked.  "Or should I say, SALV Fauxfox?  Vhy you hittink yourself?"

"Ah, of course," Vulpsmarshal Sweetcheeks sighed.  "Fauxfox.  I thought I recognized you.  I, Sweetcheeks, know this vixen quite well.  She, heh heh, gets violent when she is excited.  Probably overcome with anticipation of dining this evening with me, Sweetcheeks."

"She hasn't won all of the contests yet!" a spectator reminded him loudly.

"How does a whole wagonload of pies get misplaced?" someone else asked.

"Maybe Adler's rebel army captured it," another elf joked.

The crowd went quiet as an ominous rumble, sort of like thunder, sounded from somewhere off to the Southeast.

......

From the Chanson du Percy:

While the elves stood bickering, distracted amongst themselves, brave Percy crept out in search of souvenirs and a better vantage point from which to observe their strange rituals.

"Hey, you!  Bird!" a portly vixen who had participated in the pastry-dodging dance hissed at him.  "Vhat is ein sqvab doink in ein Vulpitanian SALV's uniform?"

"I'm er, collaborating," Percy nobly improvised.

"Looks to me like you are schneakink about," the vixen whispered imperiously.  "Ze whole sing zeems to me highly zuspicious.  Vhich means it must be official Vulpitanian business!  Sehr gut!  I need for you to do somezink for me."

"What is it you wish, ma'am?"

"Schneak over to der Embassy und get me der dossier on zis SALV Fauxfox.  I haff never zeen her before, und zomesink doesn't zeem right."

......

"Never in all my centuries," Jimmy seethed, "have I endured two such insufferable buffoons!  Cease your moronic prattling!  Get that bottle out of my face!  When I get out of these shackles, I will rend you asunder!"

"Laddie, ye'd be doin' me a favor," Nero sighed.  "Our relief still hasn't come, and I'm almost a day later than I said I'd be hoome.  Me missus'll have me hide for sure."

"Why do you not assert your dominance over the female?" Jimmy yowled.  "Are you an elf or a lowfolk?  Don't take that sass from her!  Either rend her asunder or shut up!  I cannot abide the sound of your pathetic mewling!"

"Somebody's just a bit high-strung," Angus suggested.  "You should take up a hobby.  It will help soothe your nerves.  Just look at this lovely clipper I made -"

"RRRGH," Jimmy growled.

"So that's the secret o' handlin' femmes?" Nero asked.  "Rendin' them asoonder?  I doon't think me Sal would stand fer it."

"That's what you get for choosing a femme with a fiery disposition," Angus quipped.  "My mate is content to just quietly rustle around the house.  When I get home, she won't say a word.  We'll just sit down and she'll let me nibble on her."

"She has delicious leaves," he added dreamily, after a moment's pause.

"ENOUGH!" Jimmy shrieked.

......

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